


Broken Bones and Fever Dreams

by Leasjad892



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scared Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Talks about Abuse, idiots to lovers, jaskier's dad is awful to him, like i hurt that poor boy alot in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23897848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leasjad892/pseuds/Leasjad892
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are caught in the crossfire of a budding war. And they are the only ones who can stop it. What happens when Jaskier is hurt and they have to choose? Will Jaskier sacrifice himself for the greater good?this is pretty angsty but it has a happy ending!!!****this work is very heavily influenced by the episode of Xena: Warrior Princess "one against an army"****
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 147





	Broken Bones and Fever Dreams

“Can we please just go?” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He looked up at Jaskier, who was dusting off his pants with annoyance.

“Not until I actually _do_ one.” Jaskier had been attempting to do a flip for what felt like hours. He insisted that it would help him with the ladies, but Geralt just thought it was ridiculous. Why would knowing how to do that help anyone? If anything it was a stupid party trick -but Jaskier did tend to frequent parties.

His set up was half-assed at best, he had found a boulder just off the trail they were traveling and piled all Geralt’s furs and blankets at the bottom. Topping the pile off was his own jacket and a couple of Geralt’s spare shirts. He was jumping into the pile, trying and failing to complete the flip. The farthest he had gotten so far was going head over heels and landing on his ass.

“Jaskier…” Geralt warned, “you are going to hurt yourself.”

Almost the exact moment he said that, Jaskier fell on his ass once more. But a snapping branch caught Geralt’s attention, whipping around he eyed the nearby trees suspiciously.

“Hey!” Jaskier shouted, “You know, you could help me, dear Witcher. Instead of sitting on your arse!”

“Hm.” He almost sounded amused. “You’re using the wrong foot to jump….”

“Oh really? Please, oh wise and powerful Witcher, demonstrate your vast and all knowing intellect!” Jaskier smirked and gave an over exaggerated bow, stepping off the pile.

“Uh-huh,” Geralt didn’t sound impressed, but there was a fond lilt to his tone.

Jaskier mounted the rock again, this time completing a flip, but landing on his arse anyhow, like some over glorified somersault. But in the trees across the way, there was a snapping of twigs.

“Did you here that?” Geralt questioned, whipping around towards where the sound came from.

“Oh its nothing, just the sound of my dignity dropping to the floor and scampering off, down the trail. Never to be seen again.” Jaskier stated sarcastically, gesturing vaguely in the direction the they had come down the trail.

Geralt glared back at him putting a finger to his lips, a sign of warning. Jaskier huffed and climbed back onto the boulder once more, remaining silent, yet disinterested.

Approaching the woods, Geralt reached for the nearest object to use as a weapon, which just so happened to be Jaskier’s lute. Hefting it up like a club, he approached the area the sound came from, moving quietly as he did so.

As he rounded a tree the lute came down on the unsuspecting intruder’s head and they crashed to the ground bracing his arms in front of their face.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Geralt growled, pointing the shattered lute at the intruder.

“I-I’m sorry! We're starving, I was just going to take some food, we hadn’t realized you were a Witcher! Please spare me!” the man whimpered.

“We?” Geralt asked, as he lowered the now broken lute, sighing.

“My wife and daughters. Please…” the man pleaded.

“Why should I trust you?” he grunted. “An honest man would have asked.”

“The- the last people we asked, beat me and took what….. what little we had left.” He stuttered and paused, but spoke quickly.

“What’s your name?” he grumbled, lowering the ‘weapon’.

“Wilkins, sir. Luther Wilkins.” 

Geralt sighed, whistling for Roach, ushering the man towards the open trail. When Roach arrived, he turned to her and reached into her saddlebag, “Here.” He tossed a loaf of bread and some cheese that they had picked up in the last town they passed at the man, “Go. Feed your family.”

“T-thank you Witcher… I will repay you for this someday.” Was all the man said before scampering back into the woods.

Geralt sighed, yeah, sure. When hell freezes over. No one ever is true to their word when they deal with Witchers.

Geralt’s head whipped around at the sound of Jaskier’s yelp. He gripped the broken lute tightly and marched over to where he was, only to find Jaskier sitting on his makeshift landing pad, clutching his ankle. Geralt huffed and went to help him up, only to be pushed away.

“I told you, you were going to get hurt.”

“I am not hurt! I am perfectly fine!” Jaskier stated grumpily, he looked up at Geralt spotting the broken lute, his face fell. “My LUTE!!!”

Jaskier ripped the lute from Geralt’s grip, looking at it forlorn. The lute, truly, was in tatters, all that remained was the neck and the few pieces that clung to the remaining strings.

“What happened, what did he do to you sweetheart?” he whispered to the lute, running his fingers up and down the back of what was left.

“There was a man in the woods, your lute was a unfortunate casualty.”

“She is in PIECES.” Jaskier cried out. “Take your sword next time you plan on bludgeoning a man half to death.”

“Let me look at your ankle Jaskier, it could be broken.” Geralt sighed.

“I’m fine.” Jaskier stated, pushing geralt’s hands away, and rising to stand as if to make his point. “See?”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched up, “Hmm.”

He packed up his landing pad and started back on the path, limping as he walked “And you owe me a new lute!” he yelled back, tossing the broken remains into a nearby pile of sticks.

* * *

Geralt walked a few paces behind Jaskier, who hadn’t stopped limping in the last twenty minutes. Reigns in hand, he picked up his pace, trailing Roach behind him.

“At least let me look at it, Jaskier!” Geralt growled.

Jaskier yelped and winced as Geralt roughly grabbed his ankle, “Ah! T-That doesn’t hurt!”

Geralt huffed and shook his head, “Already too swollen, huh?” He sighed and put Jaskier’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him as they walked over to a nearby puddle. “It’s sprained, you need some time to heal.” He stated, eyebrows scrunched, as he removed Jaskier’s boot and poured the cold water over his now bruised and swollen ankle. The younger man hissed at the cold, flinching away from it.

“That hurts you brute!”

In that moment a Cintrain foot soldier scrambled out of the woods and cupped his hands in the puddle, sipping water out of them. His breath was heavy, and his brow drenched with sweat, as he attempted to regain his breath.

“Run for your lives.” He heaved, sipping what little water he could.

“Why? What’s happened?” Jaskier asked, wincing as Geralt wrapped his ankle in a torn piece of his shirt.

“The Aedirn army is storming the kingdom, they are killing all who stand in their way. I’ve been sent to warn them.”

“Fuck.” Geralt looked at him seriously for a moment, considering. “Can you run ahead to Cintra and warn them?”

“Of course, but I don’t know what good it will do. At this rate I will only beat them by a hour or two.”

“We’re going to do our best to slow them down, buy you some time.” Geralt grunted. “Or stop them all together.”

“How? There are hundreds of them.”

“Let us worry about that okay?” Jaskier said, placing a hand on the messenger’s shoulder. “You should worry about pacing yourself, a run like this could kill you in this heat.”

“I will do my best to pass on your message, thank you.” He stated, taking one last sip of water before taking off at a sprint.

* * *

Geralt hoisted Jaskier up and helped him get situated on Roach’s back, hooking his knee over the horn of the saddle and resting his injured ankle against it. Once Jaskier was comfortable he set a brisk pace, using the reigns to guide Roach as he walked.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Hm?”

“We would be moving a lot faster if my ankle weren’t sore.” Jaskier mumbled, gripping onto the horn of Roach’s saddle.

“Hm.”

“Not that this isn’t going to be the makings of an amazing ballad, Geralt, but how on earth are we supposed to stop an army of Aedirn soldiers all alone?” Jaskier asked, leaning down so he was at almost eye level with Geralt.

“They will have to pass through the town of Gwerna, it’s the quickest way from the kingdoms. Fortunately, there is an old militia stockade just past it. Hopefully, there will be enough weapons there that I can stop the army before they even reach Cintra.”

“Okay, and what am I going-”

“YOU aren’t going to do anything. Especially not with your ankle injured.”

“Then you should just leave me behind,” Jaskier stated, “I’m only slowing you down. I could find a place to hide, and you could take Roach and ride on to Gwerna. It would give you more time-”

“Jaskier I am not leaving you behind.” Geralt barked. “Besides, King Demavend’s army sends scout parties that travel a day ahead of the rest of the troops. They would find you.”

“Awww, Is it just me or are you starting to c-” Jaskier was cut off by Geralt placing a firm hand over his mouth. A glint of sunlight off steel had caught Geralt’s eye from behind a small hill in the distance, reaching for his sword he spoke lowly and calmly, “Speak of the devils.”

“What, what does that mean?” Jaskier whispered back glancing between Geralt and the long grass atop the hill.

“It means we’ve got trouble and you are going to take Roach and find cover.”

“But-” Jaskier started only to be cut off with a glare.

“Go…” Geralt warned. “Now!”

Geralt urged Roach away and the horse took off at a full gallop as Jaskier twisted and turned in the saddle trying to see if Geralt was going to be okay. A dozen soldiers circled Geralt, swords drawn, as Geralt fought them off as much as he could. Some tried to parry and jab at him while his back was turned, and others watched from the hills with bows drawn. They tended to take him on face to face as the others attacked from behind.

Geralt had slain five or six of the dozen on the field, but the archers on the hill watched with careful eyes, looking for a time to strike.

“Die! Half-breed!” one of them screamed, swinging at Geralt.

Geralt huffed and deflected the blow, “Come on, do I look like someone who dies?”

Jaskier watched from his place in the trees, as one of the distant archers knocked and arrow and prepared to fire. Screaming Geralt’s name he gripped the reigns and spurred Roach forward, taking off at a gallop. Jaskier reached Geralt just as the archer fired, the arrow ripping through his shoulder.

Jaskier screamed in agony as Geralt finished off the rest of the swordsman, throwing a dagger through the skull of the archer on the hill leaving the other to run off and report back to his superiors.

* * *

Jaskier woke up cradled in Geralt’s arms, laying on his side across his lap. After the fight Geralt had rushed to Jaskier, passed out from the shock with his torso resting on Roach’s neck. He mounted behind Jaskier and led Roach to a small patch of grass where he set up a small fire and he put some water in a pot to boil on the fire before he retrieved bandages and herbs to treat the wound. Geralt stilled him as he stirred, holding his injured shoulder still with one hand and mixing a salve with the other.

“Hold still, I still have to remove the arrow.” Geralt’s expression was unreadable as he inspected the wound, his brows drawn together and his eyes dark.

“The arrow went straight through your shoulder, so I have to snap the tail off and push it out.” An apologetic look flashed over his face for a moment before he moved Jaskier and braced him, supporting his weight with an arm across his chest. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch. But I will do it as quickly as I can.”

Jaskier nodded, face contorted in pain. The wind was knocked out of his lungs as Geralt snapped the arrow. Jaskier let out a wheezing breath, his mouth open in a silent scream as his body tensed. Geralt moved to push the arrow, the grip across his chest tightening, holding Jaskier firmly in place.

A deep painful cry came this time, as Geralt shoved the arrow out as far as he could moving to pull it out the rest of the way. Geralt set the arrow aside, reaching for a stick burning in the fire, which now was nothing but hot coals.

“I have to cauterize the wound, or I won’t be able to stop the bleeding.” Geralt said softly, eyes glassy and apologetic.

“No- no, please Geralt. It hurts so bad, please don-“ Jaskier cut himself off with a heart wrenching scream and a sob as Geralt pressed the branch to his shoulder, once on either side of his body. A tear slipped down Jaskier’s cheek as Geralt threw the stick back into the small fire and pulled Jaskier to his chest.

Geralt rocked Jaskier, shushing him and smoothing his hair. They sat there for a while, until the sobs and most of the pain subsided. Once Jaskier was calm, Geralt moved to tend to his shoulder. Grabbing a strip of cloth and cleaned Jaskier’s shoulder off with the hot water, and rubbed the salve onto his wound, wrapping it in gauze.

“I guess today isn’t really my day, huh Geralt?” Jaskier attempted to chuckle, only to cough and wince.

“You’ll be okay, we just have to keep applying that salve.” Geralt paused, picking up the arrow he discarded earlier, inspecting it. His brows drew together in thought, lips pursed as he grimaced lifting the head of the arrow to his nose, taking a brief sniff. His face dropped immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

As opposed to answering Geralt pressed his finger to the flat edge of the metal, and promptly stuck his finger in his mouth. What ever was on the arrow (besides Jaskier’s blood), must not have tasted good as Geralt spit it out immediately.

“If you are so hungry,” Jaskier chuckled, “we have sandwiches in my bag.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, he didn’t even tell Jaskier to shut up. He just looked at Jaskier in worry and frantically started packing the supplies they had used.

“Geralt? Geralt what wrong?”

“We have to go, now.” Was all he said.

“Geralt!?” Jaskier yelled. “What was wrong with the arrow?”

“Get up. We need to beat the army to town.” Geralt couldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes as he helped Jaskier off the ground, and towards the horse

“I am not going anywhere, until you tell me what’s wrong!” Jaskier was scared, but he held his place using his good arm to steady himself using Roach to lean on. What could possibly be upsetting Geralt so much that he won’t even look at him?

Geralt looked at him, eyes pleading for Jaskier to get on the horse. Jaskier steeled his gaze, stubbornly refusing to move.

“Gods Geralt! Just tell me you-you _emotionally-constipated bison_!” Jaskier yelled, gripping Geralt’s sleeve, both for balance and to make his point.

“What was on the arrow?” he questioned one last time.

“Poison.”

* * *

They had been on the road silently for a while now, it was hard to make idle conversation when your life is in danger. Jaskier was slumped weakly across the front of the saddle, gripping the horn of it once again in a death grip.

“Gwerna is just over this hill,” Geralt stated, gesturing ahead of them. “When we get there, the town healer should have the antidote for the poison.”

“…How do you know?” Jaskier looked over at Geralt.

“Its called Curare, its made from a plant found in this region of the continent.” Geralt stated. Witchers don’t tend to live very long without knowing what plants they can and can’t eat. “Many healers have the antidote on hand, as children tend to accidentally ingest the plants when playing.”

“Oh. How bad is it?” Was all Jaskier asked.

It felt weird, Jaskier was normally the one talking and trying to lighten the mood, and Geralt normally just ignored him. Or told him to be quiet, but now...

“Its slow acting, so we have time.” Geralt stated “The arrow didn’t hit any organs or arteries, so we should have a day or so before it kills you.”

“Thank you Geralt. So now I get a slow and painful death when you get sick of my lovely voice and leave me on the side of the road.” Jaskier’s tone had changed to a teasing and charming one. It was a relief from the silence that had overtaken the two over the large portion of the last hour.

“So, when we get to town, we pop an antidote in me, and then what?” Jaskier asked, “We still need to stop the gigantic army heading our way. Those people are depending on us.”

“Hm.”

Ah yes, the ‘I don’t have a plan, but I don’t want to say it’ hum. Great.

* * *

The village itself was a ghost town, they must have fled when they heard of the incoming army, there were piles of food, clothes, and livestock either smouldering or still on fire.

“Looks like they didn’t want to leave anything for the Aedirn to use against them. Not even food.” Jaskier stated, uneasy.

Geralt didn’t respond, hauling ass, trailing Roach and Jaskier behind him. They approached a building, the door was wide open and there were smashed vials and pottery scattered across the floor. Scouring the shelves for the vial of the antidote that would save his best friend’s - well, his only friend’s - life.

The crunching of broken glass was almost deafening as Geralt searched in the silence. His face fell as he picked up the remains of a glass vial, the label clearly said “Curare”, but the bottom half of the bottle was broken off. It obviously had been smashed and whatever was left must be on the floor amongst the rest of the broken vials and shattered pottery.

Geralt let out a noise that could only be described as a growl, sneering as he threw the glass on the floor. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he watched from his position on Roach outside the door.

“Please don’t tell me that was the antidote.”

“Fine. “ Geralt grunted as he marched out of the building. “I won’t”

On his way out he paused, tilting his ear in the direction of where they entered town. A rumbling of many horse hooves could just barely be heard in the distance as Geralt mounted behind Jaskier, atop Roach, urging the horse forward at a gallop.

“Hold on to the saddle as much as you can. It seems like the army was moving faster than we thought.” Geralt growled over his shoulder.

“Oh lovely,” Jaskier sighed, “as if our luck wasn’t bad enough.”

Geralt grunted in response, spurring Roach on as they approached the stockade in the distance.

* * *

The stockade wasn’t much. It was a small stone and concrete mill that had been repurposed as a home base for the town’s militia. But it had several crates filled with weapons and hunting traps, as well as some (thankfully) undamaged food and first aid supplies. There were several piles of hay and wheat in the corners and the floor was lined with it.

The large barn doors were the only main point of entry but could be locked by placing a large barn slat through the handles on the inside. Above their heads along one of the walls and beside the door was a loft, it was almost too small to be called a loft as opposed to a shelf or landing, but, it was large enough for a few haybales which were piled neatly atop. There was a fireplace with a chimney in the corner and a pot along with a few cooking supplies hung on the wall next to it. There was a few windows, but they could be barred if necessary.

It sounded as if the army had stopped in the town for the night to gather what few supplies that were left behind by the villagers. Roach lay on some loose hay in the corner, munching away, Geralt having removed her saddle and bridle and brushed her down. Geralt had also moved the haybales from the loft to the floor next to the fireplace and piled some lose hay onto them. Covering the hay with a few furs and blankets as he make-shifted a bed for Jaskier, piling some spare clothes for a pillow.

Over the last hour or so of setting up, Jaskier seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. He was sickeningly pale, his eyes puffy and red as he coughed once or twice every few minutes. He lay on the bed Geralt had made, as Geralt checked his bandages.

Geralt stared at Jaskier for a moment, moving to say something only to be cut off by another of Jaskier’s coughing fits.

“My- my chest f-feels heavy.” Jaskier wheezed as he brought an elbow to his face, covering his cough.

When he brought his arm back down, Geralt swiped something off his lip with his thumb. A concerned look crossing his face as he looked down at his hand.

“What is it?” Jaskier whispered, eyes searching Geralt’s face.

“Blood.” Geralt stated, placing his hand on Jaskier’s forehead. “You have a fever. Does it hurt to breathe?”

Jaskier nodded, eyes wide. “Is that not normal?”

“No, at least no so soon. The arrow must have nicked your lung.” Geralt swore, hurriedly applying more of the salve and wrapping the wound once more.

“I just ran out of time, didn’t I?” Jaskier croaked.

“There is a healer a few towns west of here,” Geralt grunted. “If we leave now, we can get there before sunrise.”

“No.”

Geralt glared at Jaskier. Jaskier knew that look, that was the shut up and get moving look. Geralt shot him that look almost every morning when they were packing up camp, as Jaskier attempted to make conversation.

“Don’t give me that look, you are not abandoning these people.” Jaskier whispered harshly. “You promised the Queen that you would stall King Demavend’s army as long as you can. They are depending on you.”

“Jask, without the antidote-“

“I don’t care! My life is certainly worth losing if it means saving thousands of others.” Jaskier smiled sad ly, eyes sincere.

“Goddamn it Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, “This is not a debate! This is your _life_!”

“Which means it is mine to give away. And I will gladly do so if it means you help those people like you said you would!”

“This is not the time to be-“ Geralt was getting really tired of being interrupted today.

“I’m not arguing about this.” Jaskier snapped, rolling away from Geralt. “I accepted the fact that something like this may happen when I decided to travel with you. And I have no issue with dying to prevent a war.”

Geralt huffed and began setting up a fire and boiling water for dinner. He wanted to be angry, shout at Jaskier about how stupid he was being. But he was right, one man was not worth a war and being willing to give his own life to save thousands made him a better man than most. But that didn’t mean Geralt had to like it, Jaskier was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

Jaskier was sound asleep, and Geralt was panicking. Jaskier looked even worse, he his fever had risen and he sweat in his sleep, mumbling every once and a while.

Geralt had taken the ladder from the loft and fixed a stretcher out of it to put Jaskier on. His plan was terrible at best, move Jaskier in his sleep, hope he doesn’t wake as he pulls him laying on the stretcher attached to Roach. And sneak past hundreds of soldiers who would kill both of them without a second glance. But, hopefully Jaskier would thank him for this, someday.

His plans were foiled almost immediately, as he had set down the makeshift stretcher and went to move Jaskier, to see a pair of very disappointed baby blue eyes staring back at him.

“Tell me, _exactly_ , what you think you are doing.” Jaskier questioned, unimpressed.

“Uhm.” Geralt stood, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he avoided Jaskier’s eyes.

“Because it looks like you were planning on running off in the middle of the night.” Jaskier scolded, pausing to cough up a fistful of blood and phlegm. “I-I thought I had made it plainly obvious that we were not going anywhere until we fight that army.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Geralt-“

“We can go and get the antidote, and I will still be back in time to fight them off.” Geralt pleaded.

“We both know that isn’t true.” Jaskier argued. “By the time you get back, Cintra will have been lost. Our only choice is to stay and fight.”

Jaskier stared up at Geralt, who only grunted in response. Moving to the door, opening it slightly, to survey the area. Obviously not to avoid the fact saying that he really didn’t have a plan past keeping Jaskier from dying.

“Glad to see that we are finally on the same page.” Jaskier sighed, exasperated. “How many campfires?”

“Fifteen or twenty,” Geralt sighed.

“….at least ten men per fire….” Jaskier mumbled to no one in particular, “piece of cake.” He chuckled, leading into a coughing fit.

Geralt shut the door, placing the wooden slat back into the handles and rushing to a pot of steaming water, quickly pouring some into a cup.

“Drink this. It will help with the pain.” Geralt murmured, lifting the mixture to the younger man’s lips.

“That tastes horrid.” Jaskier sputtered after a sip or two. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are trying to put me out of my misery.” He joked.

Geralt huffed out a sound that almost resembled a laugh, putting the mixture of herbs and medicine down and walking over to his saddle bags. He rummaged around the bag for a moment or two, finding what he was looking for he rose and stalked back over to Jaskier, who now held the cup in his hands as he sat as far up as he could.

“I don’t think Roach will mind if we use her honey,” Geralt stated, opening the latch on the side of the half empty container. Retrieving the cup and pouring some honey into the hot mixture, stirring with the spoon.

“Roach has honey? What on earth could she possibly need it for?” Jaskier questioned skeptically. “Does she drizzle it on her grass in the morning?” he laughed.

“Honey has antibacterial abilities if used properly.” Geralt explained, lifting the cup to Jaskier’s lips once more. “Sometimes, when she gets scratches from plants or has a sore somewhere, I apply it so it won’t get infected. It also works so that if she licks at it, the sore won’t get agitated.”

“How odd. You never cease to amaze me, Witcher.” Jaskier mused.

* * *

Once he finished the tea, Jaskier dozed off once again, sleeping in the few spare blankets and furs they carried. Leaving Geralt to set up provisions and prepare.

The sun had been set for the last hour or so, so he had an hour or two left before he should get some rest. He boiled a mixture of oil, water, flour, and mud together in a large pot to make a hot sludge to dump on his opponents. He barred the windows in the loft using pieces of some old spears.

The only sound that spurred him forward was the rattling and wheezing coming from Jaskier’s lungs as he slept. He was determined to make it out of this alive, so Jaskier might have a chance at seeing the sunset once more. Jaskier stirred in his sleep, shifting and mumbling. His breath hitching every once and a while, and as it did Geralt would pause and listen to assure he began breathing again.

Geralt had finished setting up what he could, he left the pot to remain hot over the fire for the rest of the night. Almost as if on cue, Jaskier jolted in his sleep whining in pain, mumbling:

“Please, no… it hurts… no… I’m sorry… No!”

Geralt rushed over, placing a hand on his side. Using his other hand, he lightly cupped Jaskier’s warm cheek softly stroking it, attempting to wake him gently from his nightmare.

“Jaskier?” he questioned in a low voice. “Jask wake up, its just a dream.”

Jaskier jolted again, but woke from his slumber this time. He looked around frantically before meeting Geralt’s eyes. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, almost as if he weren’t seeing the man in front of him.

“Jaskier? It was just a nightmare.” The unspoken ‘ _are you alright?’_ Hung in the air.

At that his eyes snapped into focus, actually _seeing_ Geralt. Shifting in bed, stiff and sluggish, his gaze moved to avoid Geralt’s.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Geralt questioned, hand still on Jaskier’s cheek, still stroking his cheekbone, urging Jaskier to meet his eyes once again. His touches were soft, but his arms and legs were stiff and awkward. Geralt had never really been one for feelings.

The question was met with a deep, wheezing, breath followed soon by a (covered) cough. Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes once more.

“It was my father…” Jaskier mumbled, wiping the spit and blood from his lips. “He didn’t take kindly to his only son becoming a bard. He figured if he broke my hands and beat the ever living fuck out of me it would change my mind.”

Jaskier looked away, shifting to lay on his back.

“So he struck me with a belt, and once he thought I’d had enough,” Jaskier took another shaky breath, “He dragged me out to the barn by my hair and took a hammer to my hands.”

Geralt looked at the scars on Jaskier’s hands. He had always thought they were from bar-fights or falls, but upon further inspection one could make out the round edge of a hammer in the scars, where it had broken the skin. The thought of his bard, beaten broken and in pain, at the hands of his own father was enough to make Geralt’s blood boil.

Geralt shifted to lay beside the younger man, as the bard shifted to rest his head on the Witcher’s shoulder. Geralt longed to hold the bard close, but was unsure whether or not the bard would welcome the gesture. His blood still felt like it was boiling, his eyes were dark as he had to remind himself that anger wouldn’t help Jaskier right now. So he tucked _those_ thoughts away for later.

“It only worked for as long as I was unable to play,” Jaskier continued. “Once my hands were healed, I ran away. I retaught myself how to play the lute after I scraped enough money together to buy one of my own. Then I wrote songs, and played for coin for a few months. That was when I met you for the first time.”

Jaskier smiled fondly at the memory. Meeting Geralt was probably the best thing to happen to the bard, vise-versa for Geralt.

“I’m sorry…”

“Why? Its not like you could have done anything, we didn’t even know each other then.” Jaskier reasoned, a questioning lilt to his voice.

“I- I mean-“ Geralt stammered and growled at his inability to come up with the words to describe what he meant.

“Take your time my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said softly. “we have all night.”

“I- I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Geralt said slowly, unsure.

“Its in the past, nothing you or I can do now,” Jaskier smiled sadly, gritting his teeth as he shifted and jostled both his shoulder and his ankle. “we should try and get some sleep, you and I have a very big date with destiny in the morning.”

Geralt moved to check Jaskier’s ankle wrap and change his bandages, grabbing the bowl of fresh salve.

“Don’t.” Jaskier wheezed, “Don’t bother, without an antidote, I’m a lost cause. I’m only distracting you from what needs to get done.”

“Jask-“

“Don’t argue with me.” He choked, ”You know I’m right.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt started softly. “don’t lose hope, you’re all I have. You keep me going.”

“Geralt I-“

“You should get some rest, I will wake you when I need to move you.” Geralt interrupted. “I still need to find a place to hide you until this is all over.”

With that, Geralt shifted, and rose from his spot on the bed, re checking all of the provisions and traps he had set, ensuring one last time that the all worked properly.

* * *

Jaskier’s fever had rose even more since he and Geralt last spoke, he had become dazed and drowsy before he fell asleep. Fatigue was a common side effect of the poison, as it weakened its victim before it completely shut down their internal organs. At this rate Jaskier needed the antidote before midday tomorrow or he wouldn’t survive.

Geralt was getting ready to join Jaskier on the makeshift bed, when he heard Jaskier call his name. Geralt walked over to check on him once more. This time the bard was truly out of it, eyes unfocused, and clearly seeing things as he spoke.

“I know who you are, you’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia…” he mumbled.

Geralt only smiled, his eyes fond and concerned. The fever and poison had obviously messed with his bard’s mind.

“You-you smell of death…. and destiny, heroics and….and heartbreak.” He continued.

Geralt huffed a laugh, “It’s onion.”

Though he would never admit it, Geralt remembered that conversation vividly. But he didn’t expect Jaskier to continue.

“Pl-please take me with you…. you seem lonely. I can help you… I hope can learn to be brave like you…”

Jaskier fell back into unconsciousness as a silent tear slipped down Geralt’s cheek.

“No Jask,” he spoke, his voice gravelly. “I wish I could learn to be as brave as _you_ …”

Geralt rose from his position in front of the sleeping man and rounded the bed, laying in the empty spot beside him. He threw a protective arm over the bard as he fell into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

Geralt was awake before dawn. He had snuck out of the mill to spy on the troops, and see what they were doing, and how soon they were coming. From his perch he could see the troops readying their horses and sharpening their swords. He had half an hour at most, he rushed back inside to make final preparations, and move Jaskier somewhere more secure.

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you laying down?” Geralt exclaimed, as he entered seeing Jaskier awake and leaning against the wall next to the barn doors. Moving to help him lay back on the hay bed.

“I woke up and you were gone, I was worried.” He stated, as if that explained it. He was sweating and heaving with the effort of dragging himself across the floor. Coughing up a storm as Geralt moved a few furs and a bag of hay up onto the loft.

“I’m going to move you to the loft,” Geralt grunted once he was back in front of Jaskier. “And you are going to stay there until this is over. That is _not_ up for debate.”

Geralt didn’t allow for protest as he quickly tossed Jaskier over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He climbed the ladder, seemingly unaffected by Jaskier’s weight. He layed the younger man down on the small bedroll, descending the ladder again to grab the pot with the hot sludge in it from the night before. He placed the pot of sludge on the ledge of the loft, still standing on the ladder as he spoke.

“When I tell you, I want you to dump this whole pot on them.” He growled, seriously. “I am going to take the ladder away when I go. So they can’t get to you from down there.”

He moved to climb down, only to be stopped by Jaskier.

“Geralt,” he wheezed. “if I don’t make it, I want you to save yourself. Don’t die trying to protect me, the world needs you.”

“Jask-”

“No-” he coughed out. “no I need to say this, in case we don’t make it.”

Geralt glanced at the door, before looking at Jaskier’s weak form, splayed on the furs.

“I can’t explain it, because gods know you hate me, and you could never understand or reciprocate, but, well- I guess- I guess what I’m trying to say is-"

“Goddamnit Jaskier…” Geralt sighed. “spit it out, if you haven’t noticed we don’t have a lot of time.”

“I seem to have fallen in love with you, and the past years have been the best of my life.”

Geralt’s silence combined with the eyebrow scrunching and the dumbfounded look on his face told, Jaskier everything he needed to know.

“I knew you didn’t feel the sa-” Jaskier was cut off by Geralt’s lips smashing into his with a desperation.

This, for all they knew could be their first and _last_ kiss, so when Jaskier kissed back after a second or two of shock, Geralt almost fell off the ladder. He broke the kiss off, earning a keen from the other man. Knowing that at any moment the army could move on.

Geralt quickly moved to climb down the ladder and take it to the other side of the building.

A racket of coughing, followed by a sudden silence caused Geralt to glance towards the loft, where Jaskier was hidden out of sight, a worried expression crossed his face.

He opened the barn doors wide, there was no turning back now.

* * *

The battle itself was bloody.

After he flung the doors open, Geralt make quick, long strides, towards the highest hill the army could see. Screaming something incomprehensible, he retreated back to the mill. Slamming the doors shut, the rumbling of galloping horses causing the walls and doors to shake with so much ferocity that he almost couldn’t get the wooden slat in place to lock the door. Roach whinnied in the back, now standing and raring to go. The pelting of arrows caused sickening thuds from all directions, almost as if it had started raining. They had started ramming the door, the wood beginning to splinter and crack.

Geralt grabbed the few potions he had left and downed them. So once the door burst open, his eyes were pitch black and the veins had begun dripping down his cheeks. He was a terrifying sight to see, a pissed off Witcher who stood at six foot one, dual wielding his swords in his full leather armor, as his eyes were pitch black and his face the epitome of rage.

He fought hard, but carefully, every step was smooth and strategic as he took down every man in his path. At one point he dodged a flying axe, that struck the wall behind him, slicing a rope and setting off the spiked bars for the windows. The bars swung down on hinges simultaneously as the spear heads attached to them impaled any soldiers attempting to climb in through the windows, they locked in place to keep any others out. After slaughtering most of the men inside the building, Geralt moved to the roof. He climbed a ladder to a hatch that lead to the roof, fighting off any men who were up there as well. Grabbing a battle axe from a fallen enemy, he cut a hole in the roof, jumping down to the ground floor as sweat dripped from his brow. He glanced to the loft every once and a while, only to see no sign of movement.

One soldier swung a mace at Geralt only for it to be dodged, as he stabbed the man in the gut. Another wave of men came through the front, as Geralt grabbed the mace from the floor. He swung it up into a support beam on the roof, hoisting himself as far up as he could, screaming for Jaskier to push the boiling sludge off the edge.

“Now Jaskier!” he hollered. Kicking away any weapon or hand that came near him.

Meanwhile, Jaskier dragged himself painfully across the wood flooring of the loft. Moving as fast as he could, which was not very fast at all. He was out of breath by the time he reached the pot, he sat with his back against it, pushing as hard as he could with his shoulders.

The sludge spilled out and coated all of the men on the ground, falling as they screamed and burned. Allowing for Geralt to take care of the last ten or so men left, there were more coming, as they seemed to attack in waves. In the middle of the pile of bodies, Geralt stepped gingerly around them as he fought, he had lost both of his swords somewhere in the sludge, and had resorted to hand to hand combat.

He had just disposed of who he thought was the last of this wave of men, when he heard a shuffing behind himself, up on the loft was the beggar from the trail, looming over an unconscious Jaskier, with a knife. Grabbing a rope from a crate nearby, he lassoed the end of it around the mans neck, and pulled him down from the loft and onto the growing pile of bodies below with a thud and a groan.

The man quickly removed the rope from his neck while he lay on the body pile, taking a sword from one of his fallen comrades and charging at the Witcher, pinning Geralt against the wall.

“I told you I would repay you someday…” he sneered before Geralt shoved the man back, kicking the sword out of his grip. He grabbed the man by the collar and punched.

He heard a whizzing behind him and turned to catch an arrow just before it struck. He sniffed the end, and with a demonic grin, plunged the arrow into the soldier in his grip twisting the arrow and letting the man fall to the ground.

Three more men seemed to come out of nowhere as the man crawled across the floor. Geralt fought them off as he kept a half eye on the beggar with an arrow in his chest. He crawled searching for something, as Geralt stabbed a man with his own sword, pulling it out and using it to lift up the beggar’s chin. There was a vial in the beggar’s hand, which he promptly chopped off with a yell and a slash, he grabbed the vial from the severed hand.

“Thank you, I’ve been looking for that…” he chuckled darkly as the man screamed in pain.

He heard another wave of men rush the door, as he spun and aimed his sword at them. They hovered at the entrance, unsure.

“Unless you want to end up like the rest of your friends here, I suggest you go home…” he huffed, as Roach whinnied in the back. As if to make his point, he turned and slashed the beggar’s throat. The men retreated after that.

* * *

He kept his sword aimed at the doorway until the whole army had scattered. Placing the tip of it in the ground and leaning on it, heaving in big gulps of breath. The haze of adrenaline leaving his body as the potions wore off.

Clutching the vial to his chest he ran to grab a ladder and clearing a spot to set it as fast as possible. Clambering up to the loft as fast as he could, he crawled up to see Jaskier laying unconscious on the fur bedroll he rolled out.

“Jask?” he questioned nervously as he leaned over the younger man to listen to his breathing.

He popped the cork off the antidote vial with his teeth, using his other hand to plug Jaskier’s nose. He poured a good mouthful down his throat, then closed his jaw with his hand.

“C’mon Jaskier,” he worried. “swallow…”

A sputtering cough from the younger man almost made Geralt jump out of his skin.

“At least buy me dinner first, you brute….” Jaskier joked, his voice was hoarse as he reached for the vial. He drank what he could before laying back down again.

“Jaskier,” Geralt smiled a true wide smile for the first time in years. “You’re okay…”

“Of course I am, you didn’t think getting rid of me would be that easy did you?” Jaskier chuckled, as he gazed up into eyes as the slowly turned from black to golden.

Geralt leaned down and kissed Jaskier softly for a brief moment, before freezing and jolting back, realizing that Jaskier may have been hallucinating earlier. His suspicions were disproved when Jaskier grabbed him by the armor and pulled him back down for more.

After a while they grabbed their things, setting up camp a few kilometres away. They laid out their bedrolls in the grass, just holding each other as they watched the sunset.

“Hey Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“When we get to the coast, I do believe you still owe me a new Lute….”

**Author's Note:**

> I know its kinda cheesy but I thought it was sweet! This is my first fic on A03 so comments are appreciated!! <3<3<3


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